


Stop My Bones From Wondering

by cerasi



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Epiphanies, Implied Sexual Content, Internalized Homophobia, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Graduation, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-09
Updated: 2015-06-09
Packaged: 2018-04-03 16:33:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4107610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cerasi/pseuds/cerasi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After graduation, Asahi hides from the world and needs help from a few sources to find his way back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stop My Bones From Wondering

**Author's Note:**

  * For [arranger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arranger/gifts).



> For the Haikyuu!! Summer Holidays Exchange, one of [arranger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arranger/pseuds/arranger)'s requests for asanoya was: "a future/college work where they're sort of forced to come to terms with what they mean to each other as nishinoya faces graduation and thinks about what he wants to do after high school?? you could follow canon and have asahi sticking around and not going to college, or you could change things up, anything's fine!"
> 
> I... may have gone in a slightly different direction with this basic idea (and certainly went MUCH FARTHER with it than I meant to; it... got away from me a little... >_>), but I hope you find this enjoyable in some way!
> 
> All details of the Spring Tournament and other comments about the future are entirely made up by me; no spoilers here. :) Also, I apologize if there are any factual errors in here; I haven't watched the full series in a while and may have missed some things, and I also may have taken some liberties regarding the plausibility of various dates and processes.
> 
> Title is from [Some Nights](https://youtu.be/qQkBeOisNM0?t=1m3s) by FUN.

The air is cold for April, with a whiff of sea in the air that’s uncommon this far inland. Asahi pulls his sweater down over his palms and wonders if it’s some kind of cosmic irony, or maybe even just his imagination.  
  
_Today would have been the day,_ he thinks. But instead of a horizon of sea and sky, he’s staring up at a neon sign that reads _Shimada Mart_ , clutching a paper tab from a help-wanted flyer in his hand. He takes a breath, squares his shoulders, and walks inside.  
  
He realizes his mistake approximately three steps inside, before Shimada himself even registers his presence. Someone quicker on his feet ( _Noya_ , Asahi doesn’t think) could have been out the door and down the block before Shimada turned around from his sweeping, but Asahi just stands there like the fool he is and lets his judgement come barreling toward him.  
  
“Ah—good afternoon,” he says, automatically, when Shimada—Shimada, who he knows, whose store he should have remembered this was—turns to greet him. “I was… um. Here to ask about the delivery job?”  
  
Shimada blinks, and Asahi entertains a moment of wild hope that he’s unrecognizable, that brown hair and brown eyes are enough to make him indistinguishable from any other 18-year-old in the country, or that Shimada will have forgotten him, somehow, despite the two hours they spent seated across from each other at the volleyball club’s last big dinner out less than a month ago. He winces.  
  
“Asahi-kun,” Shimada says, distinctly. “Weren’t you supposed to be leaving town?”  
  
*  
  
Asahi _was_ supposed to be leaving town; he had it all figured out. All the doubt, all the fear and guilt about his future was wiped away when his mother got a phone call and came to him with a proposal: one year up in Hokkaido, filing in a much-needed position on his uncle’s fishing boat. A family favor. The relief he felt at the idea, of having a _duty_ that didn’t require anything from him but his strength and his commitment, was palpable.  
  
But the boat capsized in a storm the week before he was supposed to leave, and Asahi’s sense of purpose went with it. He stands now, awkwardly, feeling like a guest who’s overstayed his welcome.  
  
“But your uncle’s okay?” Shimada asks. Asahi realizes Shimada is still stuck on this part of the story and not the rambling that came after it. He backtracks.  
  
“He made it out okay, yeah. It’s just… the boat is pretty much gone, and my parents are probably going to be helping him out, so if I could be working…” He trails off, looking at the scrap of paper still clutched in his hand. “It would be a big help.”  
  
Shimada blinks at him again, then seems to change modes. “Right, of course. The job. Well, obviously it’s yours if you want it. We’re not going to find anyone more dependable than Karasuno’s ace, are we?”  
  
Asahi blushes. “Former ace,” he manages, automatically. “A-and, well, I don’t have any work experience, you know, so if that’s a problem…”  
  
“Do you have a driver’s license?”  
  
“Yes!” Asahi exclaims, perking up. “I just got it.”  
  
“How about a car?”  
  
Asahi droops. “Oh—no, I practiced driving with my dad’s car, but I don’t have my own, or anything.”  
  
Shimada shakes his head. “That’s not a problem; you can use mine. I like to jog home for some exercise, anyhow, so you can leave it here at the store if you ever have to be out late.”  
  
Asahi blinks. “So… You mean, the job…?”  
  
“I told you,” Shimada says, and smiles. “The job’s all yours.”  
  
Asahi smiles back, and he feels like fate is working in his favor.  
  
*  
  
Working at Shimada Mart isn’t exactly exciting, but Asahi’s surprised by how much he enjoys it. He wears a red apron and keeps his sleeves rolled up to the elbow, and he makes himself useful with predictable tasks between deliveries: inventory, stocking, sweeping. Two or three times a day he gets in Shimada’s car with an armload of bulging paper bags and does the rounds, bringing groceries and cat food and toiletries to an increasingly-familiar list of the regular customers—mostly little old ladies—around town.  
  
He’s afraid of intimidating them, the first time he shows up in their doorways, but despite the usual widening eyes, most of them invite him in for tea. He makes use of his height to change light bulbs or retrieve items off high shelves, more than once, and they declare that they’re going to have to order more often to keep him coming around. He likes that. He likes feeling useful, especially with something like _height_ that he knows he’s not going to lose.  
  
In the evenings, he eats dinner with his mom and helps with the dishes after, and watches her shows with her as she waits for his dad to come home. Later, he’ll watch some TV of his own, maybe flip through a magazine or a book, and then get ready for a bath and a night of peaceful sleep.  
  
He feels good, if he’s being honest, maybe better than he’s felt in a while, not counting a few exuberant highs at the end of the school year. It feels right. In a few months, he’ll have enough money saved that he’ll be able to afford his own place, but for now he doesn’t mind his parents’ company, the familiar routines of his life without the stress of school and volleyball and expectations. It feels like something he could get used to.  
  
*  
  
At the end of his second week, his cell phone vibrates as he’s carrying some boxes back to the storeroom. The only texts he’s gotten in a while have been his mother sending him requests for grocery items to bring home, so when he checks the front screen, he almost drops the phone in surprise. _Nishinoya Yuu_ , it says. He gulps, but opens it.  
  
_Asahi-san!!! I know you probably won’t get this for a while, but we just finished our first week of practice, and I had to tell you that it’s not the same without our ace. Come back to visit as soon as you can, okay?? We all miss you! Me especially, though. Hope you’re having a good adventure out there. —Noya_  
  
He smiles at the message at first, but his face tightens into a wince by the end. _I’m sorry, Noya_ , he thinks, just as Shimada walks in.  
  
Asahi startles and juggles the phone in the air. “Ah—Shimada-san! I’m sorry, I thought—it might have been my mom,” he finishes, foolishly. “I’m sorry, I won’t use my phone on the job again.”  
  
Shimada gives him a bemused smile. “Don’t worry about that. I was just looking for you to see if you wanted to join us tonight.”  
  
“Tonight?”  
  
“The neighborhood association team,” Shimada says, and grins. “We’re just starting up for the season, and we could really use you.”  
  
Asahi rubs at the back of his neck. “Oh—um. The thing is… I’m not playing anymore.”  
  
Shimada laughs. “You make it sound like it’s been years. Your season just ended!”  
  
“Right, but—well. After that…” He shakes his head. “I just think that’s… it, for me.”  
  
Shimada cocks his head. “Asahi-kun, I’ve seen you play. I’ve seen you play for us. You have a lot of talent. Are you sure you don’t want to do something with it?”  
  
Asahi feels his heart start to beat hard. He never told anyone but Noya about the chance he had, to do something with it, but Shimada is looking at him as if he can sense the guilt as it surfaces as a blush on Asahi’s cheeks. “I did do something,” Asahi says, finally. “I did everything I could do. Now…” He trails off, then draws himself up straight. “Now I’ve decided to retire.”  
  
“Hmm,” Shimada says, and gives him a funny smile. “Well, you know where to find me if you change your mind. We meet Tuesdays and Fridays after work.”  
  
Asahi nods, relieved. “Got it.” Then, as Shimada is turning to leave, he thinks of something else. “Wait, Shimada-san… Coach Ukai still plays with you guys, right?”  
  
“Yeah, why?”  
  
“Well, it’s just…” He fidgets uncomfortably. Then he bows. “I’m sorry for the strange request,” he says, “but please don’t tell him I’m here.”  
  
“What, working for me?”  
  
Asahi maintains his bow, but he can hear the change in Shimada’s expression without having to see it.  
  
“You mean in town? He doesn’t know?” There’s a pause, and then: “Does anyone know?”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Asahi says again, quickly, “it’s not a fair position to put you in, but—if you would be so kind…”  
  
“Alright, don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.”  
  
Asahi’s shoulders slump in relief as he straightens. “Thank you, Shimada-san.”  
  
“But you know, it’s not like the guys from your school never come over this way. If you’re trying to lay low…”  
  
Asahi knows, he’s figured this out, but he’s not ready to deal with it yet. “I’ll take care of it,” he says, with more certainty than he feels. “I appreciate your help.” He bows again, and Shimada gives a half-laugh and pats him on the shoulder before he leaves.  
  
*  
  
He thinks about texting Noya back, honestly, but the problem with lies—or even unspoken truths—is that they compound over time. _I’ve been home for a week_ would have been forgivable; _I’ve been home for a month and a half and I’ve been pretending not to get your messages_ definitely isn’t.  
  
Because it’s _messages_ , plural, now; Noya has texted him a dozen times over the past two weeks, and Asahi has felt the pit in his stomach grow wider and deeper every time his phone vibrates. They’re mostly innocuous updates about the team, the new first years, their scrimmages and their training regimens, but there’s one that comes in late at night on a Saturday that reads _I just really fucking miss you, Asahi-san_ , and that’s the one that makes Asahi feel the worst.  
  
He almost does respond that time, almost starts weaving some new layer of lies that would give him an excuse to slip outside and make the 20-minute walk to Noya’s window at the back of his parents’ house, on the first floor. _I’m home for the weekend, I’m visiting, it’s my mom’s birthday, the boat sank, I’m back._ Anything. But lying to Noya’s face is worse than what he’s already doing, he thinks. And in any case, he has a good reason for making himself scarce.  
  
The best option, he realizes eventually, would be to actually leave town, but he doesn’t have the money for it yet, and he doesn’t want to walk out on Shimada without sufficient notice, anyhow. He starts thinking about it, though, starts flipping through classifieds in his dad’s newspaper, looking for anything he might be qualified for that would take him somewhere farther away.  
  
He’s still only half-considering it when he gets his first taste of bad luck. It’s a Tuesday evening, and he’s later than usual bringing the car back after one of his regulars asked for his help getting her cat down from a tree. He’s got a few scratches on his arms to show for it, but he’s feeling accomplished, good about himself, up until the moment he pulls into the small parking lot and sees Shimada standing with Coach Ukai outside the front windows of the store. His stomach sinks, but he doesn’t know what else to do; they’re already looking over at the car as he pulls it into its usual spot. He takes a deep breath and gets out.  
  
In retrospect, he realizes, Coach Ukai should really be the least of his worries. He’s only half-sure Coach Ukai even knows where he’s supposed to be. But the puzzled look he gets when he walks toward them tells him he has a problem.  
  
“Asahi? You’re back in town? Are you visiting, or something?”  
  
Asahi, as it turns out, is actually a terrible liar. Before he even has a chance to contemplate any of the possible half-truths he’s spun in his head, he’s spilling the whole story: the storm, the change in plans, his job at Shimada Mart.  
  
When he’s done, Coach Ukai frowns at him. “You know, the guys were reminiscing about you today for, like, twenty minutes. I had to tell them to shut up because they were distracting the first years. They really don’t even know you’re here?”  
  
Asahi reluctantly calls up a mental image of “the guys” talking about him and narrows it down quickly to three of them: Hinata, Tanaka, and of course Noya. Noya, whose stories make everything he does sound larger than life. He feels a fresh wave of guilt roll through his stomach. “It’s complicated,” he says, rubbing at the side of his arm. He’s not actually sure if it’s complicated. “It’s just easier for things to stay like this,” he says, finally. “I would… prefer for them not to find out.”  
  
“Hmm,” Ukai says, and folds his arms across his chest. Asahi isn’t sure what to make of his expression. “So you’ve gotten Shimada here in on this plot, and now you want my silence, too?”  
  
Asahi cringes. “Well—yes. I guess so.”  
  
He’s not sure what he’s expecting, but it’s not the grin that appears on his old coach’s face. “Well,” Ukai says. “You’re going to have to work for it.”  
  
*  
  
“Honestly, this was lucky timing,” Ukai says, as they pull into a parking spot. Asahi is in the back seat, looking out the window at the gymnasium looming against the night sky. “I was thinking we might have to forfeit the game after our second guy called in sick.”  
  
“Asahi-kun,” Shimada says, in the moment they’re alone on the passenger side of Ukai’s van. “You know Ukai’s at least, like, half messing with you, right? You don’t really have to play if you don’t want to.”  
  
“I know.” Asahi takes a resolute breath. “It only seems fair, though. Plus, you guys came all the way here, so…”  
  
Shimada smiles. “Alright. As long as we’re clear that this isn’t a condition of your employment, or anything. I don’t want to be held responsible for bringing you out of retirement before you’re ready.” He winks, and Asahi blushes.  
  
“No, er… no. I want to play. Just today, though.”  
  
“Got it.”  
  
The gymnasium is part of a community center a few towns over, and it’s surprisingly crowded for a weeknight—there’s a fair representation of older guys in the stands, plus some families, mostly wives and kids. They head to the locker room, where Asahi changes into a borrowed uniform and shoes and reminds himself that this is just a favor to Coach Ukai, that it doesn’t mean he’s really playing again.  
  
When he steps onto the court, though, it hits him in a rush: the thrill of competition and teamwork, yes, but more fundamentally than that, the memory of being _good_ at something, even something as insignificant as smashing a 20-centimeter ball over a net. He feels his spine expand a little as he flexes his shoulders back to limber up.  
  
They receive first: Shimada pulls off a nice save from the back corner, and their setter flicks the ball to Ukai, who slams it to the ground on the other side of the net. Asahi barely has time to react before it’s over; he suddenly feels out of practice next to these old guys.  
  
“Nice play!” someone calls, and Asahi reminds himself that—temporary or not—he needs to get his head in the game. On the next serve, they get lucky with a return that sails easily back to them over the net, and Takinoue, who used to come to Karasuno’s matches with Shimada, gets under it, sends it cleanly to the setter.  
  
“Your turn, kid!” the setter calls. It takes Asahi a split second to realize that that’s him, and it’s almost too long; he’s slow to jump, to get his arm in the air. But the toss is a good one, and it finds the palm of his hand just where he likes it, and when he slams down hard toward the space between the defender’s arms, he knows before he sees it that the point is theirs.  
  
The ball hits the floor with a _thwack_ , and the team hollers in appreciation behind him. Someone’s arm—Ukai’s—slings around his neck, and suddenly his heart is pounding as the memory of his last spike rises up fresh and unstoppable in his throat. So much of their last game is a blur to him now, but that one moment stands out in perfect relief: the indistinguishable yells of the crowd, the smooth assurance of the ball against his palm, and—what felt like half a second later—the unmistakable, solid weight of Karasuno’s Guardian Deity hitting his back, wrapping sweaty limbs around him and yelling _I fucking love you, Asahi-san_ into his ear.  
  
Ukai is saying nothing of the sort, but there’s a roguish grin splitting his face. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” He winks. “Welcome to the team, _kid_.”  
  
The win the match in two games, and by the time it’s over, Asahi has to admit that it does feel pretty damn good. His blood is flowing and his reflexes have turned sharp, and he feels proud of himself, proud of the not-insubstantial quantity of points he managed to help his team score.  
  
“So Friday is our next practice,” Ukai tells him, as they’re changing in the locker room. “The association fee is ¥15,000 for the year, but I bet your boss here will cover it as a salary bonus if it means keeping you around.”  
  
“Quit making promises that involve my wallet, Keishin,” Shimada objects. “But yes, we could probably work something out.” He smiles. Only if you’re interested, of course. I know you said you just wanted to play tonight.”  
  
Ukai raises an eyebrow. “Are you really going to tell me you don’t want to come back and do this again?”  
  
Asahi hesitates. “I’m not sure,” he confesses. “Playing with you guys was fun, but…” He rubs the back of his neck. “I just… don’t know if I can do it again.”  
  
Ukai’s gaze narrows, but then, unexpectedly, it softens. “I get that.”  
  
“…You do?”  
  
“I was the same way, you know. I mean, I didn’t win a championship like you, but still, I figured high school was as good as it was going to get. I didn’t see the point in trying to get that feeling back once it was gone.”  
  
It occurs to Asahi then that Coach Ukai might actually understand some of what he feels, even if the specifics, the _exact_ feelings that are all tangled up in the memories of that week, are his alone. “What changed your mind?”  
  
“Volleyball is fun,” Ukai answers simply. “That’s what this team is about. We’re not playing to achieve our dreams or bring glory to our teammates. We’re all just here because we like to play. Once I realized that, it became something else for me.”  
  
He sounds earnest, but there’s something about the way his chin angles at _to bring glory to our teammates_ that makes Asahi wonder if his problems are a little less opaque than he’s imagined. He looks away.  
  
“You don’t have to be the ace here,” Ukai says. His voice is unexpectedly gentle, and Asahi feels himself respond automatically; a surge of sorrow and then something like release, the loosening of a tension he didn’t know was still trapped in the fibers of his chest.  
  
When he looks up, he can see the recognition of his buried fears reflected in Ukai’s steely gaze. He takes a breath and feels his lungs expand. “Okay. I’ll play.”  
  
“Really?” asks Shimada, from behind him. “You changed your mind?”  
  
“I guess so,” Asahi says, sheepishly. “I think I did forget how fun volleyball can be.” He closes his locker and turns to see Shimada grinning at him. He blinks. “What?”  
  
“Nothing, I’m just glad.”  
  
“I’m sorry, I should have listened to your advice to begin with,” Asahi says hastily, but Shimada just laughs.  
  
“I knew you would come around,” he says. “I was just expecting it to take a little longer.” He tilts his head at Ukai. “Figures that your old coach knows how to motivate you better than I do.”  
  
Ukai, standing with his arms crossed over his chest, smirks and shrugs. “I just told him the truth.”  
  
“Um,” Asahi says suddenly. “Coach Ukai…”  
  
“You don’t need to call me that; I’m not your coach anymore.”  
  
“Ukai-san,” Asahi corrects. “If I could just ask…”  
  
“Yeah, yeah. You don’t want me to tell your friends you’re here.” Ukai’s gaze turns on him. “You know something like this will just blow up in your face sooner or later, right?”  
  
Asahi shifts uncomfortably. “I—I’m figuring something out. I just need a little time.” Ukai’s eyes narrow, and Asahi, despite himself, suddenly feels very small. His throat tightens nervously.  
  
“Well, I won’t tell them,” Ukai says. Asahi breathes a sigh of relief. “It’s not my place. Anyhow, I can’t blame you. You know I never even went back to the gym once until your teacher talked me into coaching you guys?”  
  
“…Really?”  
  
“My old teammates wanted me to visit, but I always refused. I didn’t want to ruin the memories I had. Plus, as selfish as it is, it hurts to see the younger generation carrying on without you, you know?”  
  
Asahi hesitates, then nods.  
  
“Anyhow.” Ukai pushes his locker shut. “What you do is up to you, but for my part, I think I was wrong. The memories I gained working with you guys are precious to me now, too.” He smiles and picks up his gym bag. “You might be surprised by the things that matter most to you in the end.”  
  
*  
  
When it comes down to it, Asahi knows what mattered most, in the end. It’s caught up in the same memory as the jubilation of winning, but it stands out from amidst that dreamlike haze, solid and real and his alone: the humid warmth of the night air in his lungs, the smell of wet soil and the dregs of smoke from their impromptu victory barbeque.  
  
“There you are, Asahi-san.” Noya’s eyes were shiny in the dark, and his clothes smelled like woodsmoke and beer. “You disappeared from under our noses.”  
  
“I did?” Asahi gave a half smile. “Sorry, I just—” he shrugged. “Wanted to get some air.” And then because it was Noya, added, “It’s a lot to process, you know?”  
  
Noya grinned at him. “Only you would need time to process a _win_ , Asahi-san.” His voice was blatantly affectionate, and Asahi could feel his stomach tying into knots. “Your problem is,” Noya said, and Asahi noticed only as Noya leaned forward that his eyes were unfocused; he was probably a little drunk—”you think too much,” Noya finished, and hugged him, warm and solid. “You were amazing, Asahi-san,” Noya murmured, hot breath seeping through the fabric of Asahi’s t-shirt. “Really amazing.”  
  
He looked up, eyes wide and trusting, and it was finally too much.  
  
“N-Noya…” Asahi tried to step away, but Noya’s arms were wrapped firmly around his middle; he had to put his hands on Noya’s shoulders to break free. “Noya, stop, d-don’t.”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“It’s just—it’s not…” His face was burning hot with shame. “You—you shouldn’t…”  
  
Noya blinked at him. “What?”  
  
“I’m… I…”  
  
The words weren’t within him, though; even the idea of it was barely formed. It was there in his mind only in shapes and sensations: his gaze tripping sideways when Noya crossed his field of view, his stomach going hot at Noya’s sunny laughter, the outline of Noya’s aura burned into his heart, compact and radiant and _right_.  
  
_This is a crush_ , he realized, sounding the words out in his head. _I have a crush on Noya._  
  
It was as obvious as it was terrifying.  
  
“Asahi-san?”  
  
And then it was something else.  
  
“No,” he said, quickly. His chest felt cold and heavy with panic. “It’s nothing.” His hands, he realized, were still on Noya’s shoulders. He let go with a start and shoved them into his pockets. _This is nothing, this is just in my head, he doesn’t have to know—_  
  
“…Asahi-san.”  
  
He looked up to see Noya staring at him, and his mouth went dry. Noya couldn’t have figured it out already, could he?  
  
“ _Asahi-san_ ,” Noya whispered again. His hands came up to touch Asahi’s forearms, and that wasn’t fair; Asahi couldn’t do anything about the goosebumps that bloomed there, the hot shiver that went up his spine. Thirty seconds into his private oath to keep his feelings to himself, and here he was screwing it up already while Noya just stared at him like he was trying to figure it out, like he was _watching_ for it, his eyes not moving a millimeter as his hot, dry fingers slid up to Asahi’s elbows, cupped them.  
  
Asahi didn’t even have voice enough to tell him to stop, even though he should have, even though he _needed_ to, even though it would be obvious what he was hiding if he did.  
  
“Do you—is this—?” Noya was whispering. His thumbs came to rest on the pulse points in the awkward bends of Asahi’s arms, and Asahi felt his lips part, felt himself gasp at what shouldn’t have been anything at all. “ _Oh,_ ” Noya breathed, and Asahi knew it was over, just as quickly as it had begun.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he blurted. “God, Noya, I’m sorry, I didn’t—I didn’t even know, I swear—”  
  
Noya blinked at him. Then his face changed, and he laughed, one clear note like a ray of sunshine in a storm. “Asahi-san, no, I’m not—” He shook his head quickly, but his eyes didn’t leave Asahi’s face. “I’m not _mad._ ”  
  
“Y-you’re not?” Asahi tried to step back, but Noya’s hands were suddenly clenched around his biceps.  
  
“No,” Noya said, and smiled—and okay, maybe it wasn’t crazy to think that Noya might be able to tolerate something as bad as this, but he was actually _grinning_ now, he looked—  
  
_Happy._  
  
The pieces didn’t fit together in Asahi’s mind, but he put them together anyhow, held them in a fragile moment of disbelief. One minute into realizing he had a crush on Noya, and Noya was staring back at him with an expression not even he could question, a beam of light aimed directly at his sorry soul.  
  
“I meant it, you know,” Noya said, softly and clearly. His fingers were twin vices around Asahi’s arms. “What I said in the game.”  
  
“…What?”  
  
“That I… like you.” His eyes flicked away for an instant, then snapped back with new intensity. “That—I really like you. Asahi.” His fingers dug in hard, but Asahi couldn’t feel any pain. “Do you—I mean, is that—?”  
  
It was the quiver in Noya’s unshakeable voice that finally snapped Asahi out of his stupor. “Noya,” he whispered, and then, “yes, I mean, I think— _yes._ ”  
  
“Oh,” Noya whispered, and then he was fully radiant again; Asahi couldn’t look away if he wanted to. “ _Awesome_.”  
  
“But,” Asahi squeaked, because this actually made no sense, “but—Noya, you…”  
  
Noya was suddenly very close to him, and at some point in the intervening seconds his hands had moved from Asahi’s arms to his chest. “Hm?”  
  
“You like _girls_.”  
  
“Oh,” Noya said. “Well, yeah.”  
  
Asahi’s stomach did something awful. This was wrong; _he_ was wrong—  
  
“But I mean,” Noya continued, and Asahi subsided. “I like you, too. I mean. Specifically.” He smiled, sharp and giddy. “Is that okay?”  
  
It could have been the moment Asahi changed his mind. But instead he nodded, haltingly, and when Noya closed his hands around fistfuls of Asahi’s t-shirt and asked, “So—so can I kiss you, or what?” he nodded again.  
  
Out of his whole high school career, that’s the moment Asahi cherishes the most.  
  
He only regrets it a little bit, even now.  
  
*  
  
On Friday, he rides with Ukai and Shimada to practice after work, and Shimada gives him his association membership packet. They do receiving drills and play a scrimmage, and the regulars tease him about not being old enough to join them for a beer after practice.  
  
He does join them, though, after Ukai rolls his eyes and practically pushes him into the bar across the street, and the waitress doesn’t give him so much as a second glance.  
  
“Are you sure this is okay?” Asahi whispers, as Ukai pours him a beer from a pitcher. “I don’t want to get you in trouble.”  
  
Ukai just laughs. “Asahi, you could probably pass for 30 if you wanted. Here.” He slides the beer into the space between Asahi’s hands, and Asahi takes a tentative sip. He realizes, too late, that his only other experience with this taste was on Noya’s lips.  
  
“Don’t tell me you’re one of those guys who can’t drink half a beer without turning red,” Takinoue teases, from his other side. “At your size?”  
  
“I think that’s a genetic thing,” Asahi says weakly, which he knows because he once overheard Tanaka complaining to Noya for 20 minutes about how it ran in his family. Asahi has no idea if he has it, but it doesn’t make any difference; he can tell that he’s flushed bright red at the memory of that taste, of the things that came with it, after Noya pulled him to a more secluded corner of their hotel grounds, and then to his room.  
  
He shivers and then, despite himself, takes another sip. It’s pleasantly bad, the mild punishment he deserves for his thoughts.  
  
“So Asahi-kun, I wanted to talk with you,” Shimada says, when the flow of conversation around them has gravitated toward the other end of the table. “You know I’ve really appreciated your hard work these last few weeks, and I like having you around the store…”  
  
Asahi swallows a mouthful of lukewarm beer. “Um,” he squeaks.  
  
Shimada seems to catch his expression, and smiles. “No, no, nothing’s wrong! Obviously you’re welcome to stay here as long as you want—I would actually hate to lose you, but, well. I thought I’d tell you that my dad’s actually looking for a new cashier at our other location.”  
  
“…Other location?”  
  
“Shimada Mart Two!” A proud grin creeps onto Shimada’s face. “It’s a little out of the way, about 20 minutes from here. Dad mostly runs it himself, but he’s finally admitted that he needs some new staff, and I thought, since you’re… you know, laying low…”  
  
The first emotion that hits is relief, quickly followed by worry. “But—I still don’t have a car, and the team…”  
  
“There’s a bus that goes right by the store,” Shimada tells him. “And don’t worry about practice, I can still pick you up.”  
  
Asahi swallows hard, but this time it’s gratitude that’s filling his chest. “Shimada-san… Would it really—I mean, I don’t want to inconvenience you…”  
  
Shimada smiles. “As long as you can stick around long enough for me to find another driver, it’s not a problem. And I already asked my dad to hold the position for you, if you wanted it.”  
  
Asahi can’t actually reply for a moment; the kindness of it is too much. “Shimada-san,” he says again, “I don’t—I can’t… _Thank you_ ,” he finally says, eyes wide. “If there’s anything I can do…”  
  
Ukai, who’s starting to look a little red in the face himself, slaps him on his shoulder. “Just keep showing up for practice.”  
  
Shimada rolls his eyes tolerantly. “No one was talking to you, Keishin.”  
  
They bicker over him, and Ukai orders another round, and Asahi lets himself fade from the conversation, warming his beer between his hands and letting relief wash through him, slow and sure.  
  
*  
  
When it finally happens, Asahi feels like he should have seen it coming.  
  
Actually, he _did_ see it coming—he had a plan; he was nearly set to start his new job far on the other side of town—but somehow he didn’t believe it would happen until now, or that it would even matter.  
  
It’s his laughter Asahi hears first. The tones of it are pure and bright, ringing out over the soft swoosh of the automatic doors, and the first thing it elicits, despite everything, is joy, radiating through Asahi’s chest.  
  
Then: “Oh my _god_ , Ryuu, stop, Coach Ukai would have _killed_ you—”  
  
Noya laughs again, high-pitched and jubilant, but this time it feels like a bucket of ice crashing down right on top of Asahi’s heart.  
  
_He’s here, he’s real_ , he thinks, as if Nishinoya Yuu could ever have been an idea he’d just dreamed up. Asahi’s imagination isn’t nearly that good, not for Noya’s nimble grace, his perfect smile, the tuft of blond spiking down toward his eyes.  
  
He can almost see it, and then he remembers that he’s about to.  
  
_Maybe you should hide_ , he tells himself, but he doesn’t move; he just clutches at the broom he was using to sweep the refrigerated aisle.  
  
“Could you eat, like, three popsicles?” he hears Noya say. “It’s cheaper if we get a whole box.” His voice is coming from the next aisle over, and still Asahi doesn’t actually believe that Noya is going to see him when he turns the corner.  
  
_I’m a ghost_ , he thinks, wildly. _I’m not here._  
  
“Anyhow, you should tell him that—”  
  
And then Noya’s voice is gone, and it’s just Noya standing there instead, all not-quite-160-centimeters of him. He’s staring right at Asahi, face stricken with shock, and it’s not until that moment that Asahi realizes what a complete and utter fool he is.  
  
“Noya,” he croaks.  
  
“Oy, Noya, what are you—” and then Tanaka is standing there too, his expression equally dumbfounded.  
  
“Asahi-san?” It’s Tanaka who says it.  
  
“I—I…”  
  
“What’s going on? Wait, are you working here?” Tanaka’s eyes are fixed on his red apron, the one with the Shimada Mart pig on it, but Asahi’s eyes are fixed on Noya. Noya, who’s looking at him like he really is a ghost, albeit one that’s materialized where he’s not welcome.  
  
“I… I can…” _explain_ , he would say, except that he _can’t_ , not to Noya’s face, and certainly not with Tanaka standing next to him, storm clouds brewing over the surprise in his eyes.  
  
“You’ve been here, haven’t you.” Noya’s voice is a hoarse whisper. “You’ve been here.”  
  
Asahi doesn’t respond, which is its own answer.  
  
“Have you been getting my texts?”  
  
“Noya,” Asahi says, “I… I’m sorry.”  
  
He’s been expecting, he realizes, to be yelled at, and maybe that’s what he’s been waiting for, all this time.  
  
But instead, Noya just stares at him another beat, long enough for Asahi to see the glassiness of his eyes, and then spins on his heel. “Come on, Ryuu.”  
  
“Noya,” Tanaka says, “Hey, wait—Noya!”  
  
And then they’re gone, leaving Asahi rooted to the half-swept floor.  
  
*  
  
Thirty minutes later, Asahi’s shift is over and his mind has come unstuck enough to settle on a course of action.  
  
It’s probably the course of action he should have taken in the first place, but for once he doesn’t even have the mental capacity to beat himself up with regret. The look on Noya’s face is enough to occupy his mind’s eye.  
  
He walks the 30 minutes to Noya’s house and goes to the front door. He’s never actually done this, he realizes as he presses the doorbell; the only times he’s been to Noya’s house were when Noya snuck him in through the back, the week after the Spring Tournament ended. He’s met Noya’s parents before, though, briefly, and he’s ready to do his best impression of a Respectable Friend.  
  
What he’s not ready for, when the door opens, is the unsightly vision of Tanaka Ryuunosuke’s face, tilted back with his lower lip between his teeth and his eyes wide and menacing.  
  
Asahi actually yelps and jumps back an inch. “O-oh. Hi.”  
  
Tanaka’s lip twitches in what Asahi guesses is a valiant effort not to laugh. He doesn’t laugh, though; he just raises his eyebrows high. “Can I help you?”  
  
“…Um. Is—?”  
  
“No, I’m _terribly_ sorry, Mr. Nishinoya isn’t accepting visitors at the present moment. May I take a message?” He raises an invisible pen to his palm, his scowl suddenly replaced by an obsequious grin.  
  
Asahi finally laughs, nervous and helpless. “Are you a bodyguard or a secretary?”  
  
“ _Both_ ,” Tanaka says, and bats his eyelashes fiercely.  
  
“I—I just want to talk to him,” Asahi tries again.  
  
“Hmm, you figured that out a little late, didn’t you?”  
  
Asahi opens his mouth, then closes it. He’s assumed until now that he and Noya were the only people who knew about what transpired after the Spring Tournament, but seeing Tanaka bridging the doorway with his shoulders makes him realize he may have been wrong.  
  
_And what would that mean?_ he asks himself. He pushes the question down as quickly as it rises.  
  
“Well—” he says, and lifts his hand to the back of his neck. “Then, could you just—please just tell him I’m sorry?”  
  
“Duly noted, sir.” Tanaka bows deeply before pushing the door shut.  
  
*  
  
If there’s one thing Asahi knows about Noya, it’s that he can be relentlessly stubborn.  
  
It’s a surprise, then, when his phone starts buzzing on his nightstand as he’s getting ready for bed later that night, and Noya’s name is on the caller ID.  
  
His throat nearly closes up when he answers it, but he manages a weak, “Hello?”  
  
He’s half-expecting it to be Tanaka again.  
  
“Here’s what I want to know,” says Noya’s voice, and Asahi’s throat does close up then, well and truly. “If you didn’t want to see me anymore, then fine. You should have told me, but whatever. What I actually want to know is, was any of that stuff about _family responsibility_ even true? Because I fucking _believed_ you, man, and if you’re just throwing away your future for nothing—”  
  
“It was true,” Asahi squeaks out, because that’s a starting place, he thinks; that’s important. “It was—it was all true, I swear. It’s just… things changed. My plans got canceled.”  
  
“So then you can _go_ , then, can’t you? Did you call her back?”  
  
Asahi freezes. This wasn’t exactly where he expected the conversation to go, but at the same time, maybe it was. Of course this is what Noya is upset about; he’s always been concerned about Asahi living up to his potential. And he was there that day, after all.  
  
It was the morning after their victory, and they’d all been granted a merciful reprieve to sleep in as late as they wanted before the bus ride home. Noya was curled against his side, warm and naked, and the thudding in Asahi’s chest hadn’t yet quite made the leap from wonder to fear.  
  
He almost didn’t pick up his phone when it rang, for fear of waking Noya up, but when Noya stirred against him at the third loud buzz, he finally answered it.  
  
Noya opened his eyes a minute into the conversation, just as Asahi was starting to babble to the woman, a university recruiter, that there had to be some kind of mistake, he was a third year; he was about to graduate; he wasn’t even in a college prep class—  
  
And then, before he knew exactly what was happening, Noya took the phone from him.  
  
“Hello, yes, this is Azumane-san’s agent.”  
  
Asahi turned bright red. “ _Noya_.”  
  
“Uh-huh. Yes, okay. Hold on, let me write that down.” Noya scrambled out of the bed and went to sit buck naked at the hotel room desk, scribbling onto a memo pad while Asahi watched in a sleepy stupor of terror and love.  
  
“No, thank _you_ , I’ll be sure to let him know.”  
  
And then Noya was hopping back into bed with it all laid out: a future, scrawled in pencil on a sheet of paper the size of Noya’s hand.  
  
“She said that given your high school coursework, they’d want you to wait until next year and take the school’s entrance exam despite the scholarship; you wouldn’t have to score great or anything, you know, just—prove that you wouldn’t flunk out.”  
  
“Wouldn’t I?” Asahi squeaked, and then, belatedly: “Wait, a _scholarship?_ ”  
  
“ _Asahi-san_.” Noya was suddenly on top of him, straddling him, pinning his shoulders to the bed. “I _told_ you you were good enough for this, if you want it. You could go pro. We could go pro, together.” Noya hesitated visibly, then, his eyebrows loosening. “Is that what you want?”  
  
“I… I don’t know,” Asahi whispered, honestly. “But—maybe? Maybe if—” And it might have been the heat of Noya’s body that stirred the words inside him, “—maybe if… if it’s both of us.” He squeezed Noya’s hand, and Noya grinned and kissed him, and it felt right.  
  
Now he feels anything but right, clutching his phone, listening as Noya’s silence grows chilly. “You didn’t did you?” Noya finally says.  
  
“…No.”  
  
“You’re _good_ , Asahi-san,” Noya says, and this, at least, is an argument Asahi knows how to have. “You’re really, really good, and if this was just me pushing you toward something you didn’t want, then—then you should have told me that.” He can picture Noya’s face clearly, the way his nostrils are flaring, the shiny line of pink underscoring his eyes as his voice raises in pitch. “But I didn’t think that’s what it was.”  
  
“It wasn’t,” Asahi says, softly, because if he’s a bad liar to begin with, he’s hopeless when it comes to Noya. “If my parents hadn’t asked me to go with my uncle, I… I would have done it, then.”  
  
“And what about now?”  
  
“I just…” says Asahi, and hates himself for it as soon as the words are formed, “I just changed my mind.”  
  
There’s a long silence.  
  
“Okay.” Noya doesn’t quite sound angry, and it’s awful. “That’s all I wanted to know. I guess I’ll see you around.”  
  
There’s a trill of beeps, and Noya’s voice is gone.  
  
Asahi stares down at the phone and thinks for a second about calling back. He doesn’t think Noya would pick up, but more importantly, he doesn’t know what else he has to say.  
  
_This is how it should be_ , he thinks, and sets the phone back down. _This is for the best_.  
  
He’s pretty sure he believes it.  
  
*  
  
The next day, when Shimada says he’s still looking for a replacement driver, Asahi bows low and tells him he doesn’t need to bother.  
  
“Are you sure?” Shimada asks. “I mean, it’s no problem either way; we can find someone for the other store, but I thought…”  
  
“I figured things out,” Asahi half-lies. “I mean… It’s not a problem anymore.”  
  
“Alright, Asahi-kun.” Shimada reaches and pats him on the shoulder as he walks back to the storeroom, and Asahi wonders if the truth is written on his face.  
  
He’s happy to keep doing his deliveries, but he starts to regret his decision when he realizes it means that the Karasuno volleyball team now knows where to find him. He doesn’t think it’s a coincidence when, after two months without a Karasuno player in sight, Hinata and Kageyama show up in Shimada Mart the very next day.  
  
“Asahi-san!” Hinata’s eyes are comically huge, and his hands seem barely able to contain themselves at his sides. “It _is_ you!” He seems to hesitate, then throws himself at Asahi in a hug. “Everyone’s really missed you, Asahi-san,” he says when he pulls away, and even Kageyama frowns and nods behind him. “Since you’re here, you should come back and visit! Or come to a game; we’re about to play in the prefecturals!”  
  
Asahi thinks, suddenly, of what Ukai said about the world carrying on without him. He forgot that the Summer Inter-High was starting, but of course it is; it’s already June.  
  
“We could use your advice on how to improve our spiking,” Kageyama says, and Asahi is touched, despite himself.  
  
“I—I’m sorry, but… I don’t think I can, right now.”  
  
Hinata pouts. “It’s because of Noya-senpai, isn’t it? You should make up with him, Asahi-san. Remember how he wouldn’t even play volleyball the last time you guys were fighting? What if he, like, goes on a hunger strike this time, or something?”  
  
Asahi cracks a smile despite himself at Hinata’s earnest expression and Kageyama’s troubled one. “It’s… it’s not like that,” he says. “We’re not fighting. It’s just… I need to stay away for a while.”  
  
Kageyama reaches out to grab Hinata’s elbow, but it’s too late; Hinata is already flailing his arms. “Asahi-san, don’t give up so easily! If Noya-senpai won’t tell you, I will!”  
  
“Hinata, come on.”  
  
“You’re our ace! You need to stand up for what you want!”  
  
It’s not a bad impression of Noya. Asahi’s chest aches at the sight of it.  
  
“I’m sorry, guys. I’m not anyone’s ace anymore. I’m just…” He spreads his arms. “Just this.”  
  
“We should go,” Kageyama says, finally catching hold of Hinata’s arm. “Asahi-san, you can visit any time you want.”  
  
Hinata sighs and complains as Kageyama drags him out of the store. It’s not until they’re gone that Asahi realizes they didn’t buy anything.  
  
*  
  
That Friday the neighborhood association plays a match in town, and Asahi’s game is worse than it’s ever been.  
  
“Asahi, man, are you feeling okay?” Takinoue asks him, after he fumbles the ball walking toward his second serve and has to run halfway across the court to retrieve it.  
  
He’s not feeling okay; he feels cold and terrible. _You’re doing the right thing_ , he tells himself, but every day that passes without Noya calling to yell at him makes him realize that Noya’s _not_ going to call and yell at him.  
  
He’s not sure when he ever believed that Noya would—he has no reason to, he knows that much—but he’s realized by now that it’s what he’s been waiting for, maybe all along.  
  
His serve hits the net full-on, not even close to clearing.  
  
“It’s alright!” Shimada tells him, but he’s not sure if it is.  
  
_See, Noya? I can’t do it. Not even if I want to._  
  
They lose the first game by a 10-point margin, and Asahi excuses himself from the huddle that follows; it’s all he can do to walk over to the bleachers and collapse onto a bench.  
  
“Hmm,” says a melodic voice behind him. “Game not going so well?”  
  
Asahi’s heard jerks up. The voice is instantly familiar, but he doesn’t believe it until he turns around. “S-Suga?”  
  
Suga grins at him. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s get out of here.”  
  
Breathing the cool night air outside the gymnasium, it’s easier to believe that Suga has actually materialized. But still:  
  
“What are you doing here?”  
  
Suga tips his head toward the star-covered sky. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that, Asahi?” He laughs. “I’m visiting for the weekend to watch the Inter-High.”  
  
“Oh,” Asahi says, sheepishly. “Right. But—”  
  
“Ukai invited me to the match,” Suga says. His smile slants a little as he looks over. “I may have done some asking around about where to find you, after I figured out what was going on.”  
  
Asahi looks away. “Oh.” He’s not sure what that means, but the tone of Suga’s voice tells him it means _something._ “You mean, um…”  
  
“Well, it was obvious Noya was upset about something. And Hinata can’t keep his mouth shut, so.” Suga shrugs easily. “I figured it out.”  
  
Asahi’s not even sure he can say that much about the situation. To start with, he can’t explain why everyone seems to take for granted that Noya would be this upset over him.  
  
Suga sits down on a low wall outside, and Asahi joins him. Silence lasts for a few beats before Asahi feels compelled to fill it.  
  
“So are you enjoying university?”  
  
Suga smiles, but his eyes cut over sharply. “It’s been great,” he says, “but I’m more interested in hearing about you. Aren’t you going to tell me what happened?”  
  
Asahi takes a breath through his nose and lets out the story, the way he did to Shimada, and then Ukai.  
  
When he’s done, though, Suga is still looking at him with a perplexed expression. “But why didn’t you tell anyone?”  
  
Asahi thought he knew the answer to that question, but now that it’s been dragged into the open, he feels less sure. “I just… felt like I needed to get away,” he says, and it feels close to the truth. “From everyone.”  
  
“Even Noya?”  
  
Asahi’s face flushes before he can even try to hide it. “U-um. Well, yeah.” He bends over and presses his fingertips to his forehead. “I don’t know,” he says, finally. “I think… I think I might have messed things up.”  
  
He glances over to see that Suga is looking back at him calmly, waiting.  
  
“I had an offer from a university,” he explains. “For next year.”  
  
Suga’s lips quirk. “You wanted to go to college?”  
  
“I… wasn’t sure. Noya said—” He stops, and has to start again. “Noya thought it was how I could keep playing. If—you know. If I wanted to… to try to play professionally, someday.” His voice nearly flickers out at the end of the sentence, but Suga just regards him with a curious look.  
  
“Well, I think you could, if you wanted to. You and Noya both could.”  
  
Asahi feels his chest constrict. “But I… I changed my mind,” he said, “and I guess—” He chews on his lower lip as the words finally hit him. “I guess he’s pretty disappointed.”  
      
But when he finally looks up, Suga is frowning at him. “Asahi,” he says, slowly, “I don’t think this is about _volleyball_.”  
  
Asahi blinks.  
  
“I mean, you kind of…” Suga hesitates, pursuing his lips, and then finally seems to give in. “You kind of broke up with him without telling him, didn’t you?”  
  
A cold wave washes through Asahi’s chest, and he can’t answer; he just gapes at Suga.  
  
“Sorry!” Suga says, smiling, his hands splayed out in front of him. “I know I wasn’t supposed to know.”  
  
Asahi swallows. “Did Noya…?”  
  
“Nah, he wouldn’t tell me,” Suga says, and then grins a little. “But I mean, you guys did kind of disappear for a week. And I knew how he felt about you even before then. He wasn’t too shy about it.”  
  
Asahi doesn’t know what to say to that. He would never have guessed it himself, could barely believe it when Noya told him, but Suga had known?  
  
“I think he’s just hurt,” Suga says, softly.  
  
“But—he said… He said that wasn’t even what he was upset about,” Asahi says, but he can hear even as he says it how ridiculous it sounds; he remembers the look on Noya’s face when he saw him.  
  
“Asahi…” Suga lets out a quiet huff of air. “It’s not an easy thing to admit, when you let your heart get broken. Not even Noya can just bounce back from something like that.”  
  
Asahi’s own heart feels heavy in his chest. “I didn’t think—” he says, his voice small. “I thought— maybe… he would have moved on. By now.”  
  
Suga arches an eyebrow. “Really?”  
  
“He _should_ move on,” Asahi says. “It’s—it’s for the best.”  
  
The things that sound convincing in his own head, he realizes, sound less so when he’s saying them out loud to Suga.  
  
But Suga doesn’t argue; his face has solidified into something unreadable. “I can’t tell you what’s right,” he says, “but whatever you decide, Noya at least deserves to hear it from you.”  
  
And that, at least, feels true. He owed Noya that much, and the shame of not having given it finally cracks through to the surface and fills his heart. “I’ve been pretty cowardly, haven’t I?” he mumbles, as he raises a hand to rub at his eyebrows.  
  
Suga’s hand finds the center of his back. “Well, the world doesn’t change overnight,” he says, smiling warmly.  
  
Asahi lets out a soft laugh and lets the kindness of Suga’s voice chase away the tightness in his chest. “ I guess not.”  
  
“Well,” Suga says, and lifts his hand to deliver a light blow to Asahi’s back. “You’ve got another game to play. Better get back in there. Show them what Karasuno’s ace is really made of.”  
  
Asahi smiles and, for once, doesn’t correct him. “…Thanks, Suga,” he finally thinks to say. “For—you know.” He smiles sheepishly. “Talking some sense into me.”  
  
“Well, _someone_ had to,” Suga says. “Just be glad Daichi had to do a thing with his family tonight; you got the nice version from me.”  
  
“Daichi’s here?” Asahi asks, and then, “Wait, does _everyone_ know?”  
  
Suga just grins at him. “We’ve still got your back, Asahi,” he says and reaches over to push Asahi toward the open door. “Don’t forget that.”  
  
*  
  
When the match finally ends—they lose, but it’s respectable, and Asahi made a decent showing in the final game—it’s not quite 10 o’clock. Suga accepts a ride home from Shimada, but Asahi bows out, telling them he wants to walk to clear his head.  
  
As soon as they’re gone, he pulls out his cell phone. He wavers, though, holding it in his hand. _What if he hangs up on me? Or doesn’t pick up?_ And there’s a part of him, too, that knows it’s a cop-out to do this over the phone, when Noya can’t see his pitiful face. He puts the phone back in his pocket and turns toward Noya’s house instead.  
  
As he’s climbing over the fence to Noya’s back yard, it occurs to him what a suspicious figure he makes, and how completely embarrassing it would be to get arrested for trespassing in front of Noya’s parents. But those concerns fall away when he sees the light on at Noya’s window, the shape of Noya’s back where he’s sitting on his bed.  
  
His chest aches. The last time he was here like this was the night he decided to leave, when he explained that it wasn’t really his decision, that there was nothing he could do. It was the truth, at the time, but he wonders now if his promises to come back as soon as he could were a lie, even then. The seeds of doubt were already in his mind, he thinks, the certainty that Noya would be better off without him. _I should have just told him the truth,_ he thinks. Then he squares his shoulders, preparing himself to do just that.  
  
He gives the window the lightest knock he can manage, but Noya still leaps an inch at the sound of it. When he turns, his features are soft and vulnerable for just a moment.  
  
Then his mouth sets in a line, and he paces over to throw the window open. “Jeez, Asahi-san, you scared the hell out of me. What are you doing here?” His house is built on a foundation that puts him roughly at eye level with Asahi, when they’re standing on opposite sides of the window like this; it gives Asahi a sense of just how intimidating Noya would be if he were taller.  
  
“I just—I wanted to talk to you,” he says. “I wanted to explain.”  
  
Noya’s lips purse, and Asahi notices suddenly how pale he looks, how dull his eyes are. “You don’t have to explain, Asahi-san,” he says. He leans against the windowsill, his shoulders high around his chin. “It doesn’t matter what happened, with your family, or with anything. You can make your own decisions.”  
  
“I didn’t mean to hurt you, though.”  
  
Noya snorts softly. “Well jeez, what did you think would happen? That you’d just disappear and I’d never find out?”  
  
_I didn’t think it through that far,_ Asahi almost says, but then another answer rises in his throat, and he knows as he says it that’s probably the truth. “I thought… you’d forget about me,” he says. “Before it made a difference.”  
  
Noya stares at him for a long moment. Then, to Asahi’s surprise, he laughs. It’s not a pleased laugh, but it’s a real one; his chest shakes with it. “Are you _serious?_ ” he asks, and then, less mirthfully, “Oh, jeez, Asahi-san, you—you’re actually serious, aren’t you?”  
  
Asahi pauses, unsure. “I’m sorry,” he finally says.  
  
Noya sighs, and the tension in his shoulders leaves with it. “Look,” he says, “I didn’t…” He trails off, then breathes a huff of air through his nose. “I probably should also apologize to you.”  
  
“…What?”  
  
“I just… I always wanted to push you,” he says, “so you wouldn’t stop moving, you know? But I don’t always know when to back off, and… I probably pushed you too much.” He runs a hand through his hair, which has been freed from its usual spikes, falling softly over his forehead. “I guess I just wanted to believe that all of that was what you wanted, too.”  
  
Asahi hesitates; he can’t tell if Noya is talking about volleyball, now.  
  
Noya’s mouth tightens. “I liked you for a long time before that, you know,” he says, and Asahi feels his eyes go wide. “I’m sorry if… if that wasn’t…”  
  
“Oh my god, Noya, _no_ ,” he says quickly. “It wasn’t—that wasn’t…” A shaky laugh escapes him. “I wanted… that. I definitely wanted it.”  
  
Noya frowns. “You said you didn’t even feel that way until that night.”  
  
“I didn’t _know_. I didn’t know it was what I felt, but it—” he hesitates, then finishes, “it was a long time for me, too.”  
  
All of the certainty has slipped off of Noya’s face. “Then _why?_ ” he demands suddenly. “Did you really just—change your mind?”  
  
The uneven tilt of his voice is a blow to Asahi’s chest; he’s never heard Noya sound so helpless.  
  
“Noya…” He’s thought about how to explain, thought about it the whole walk here, but he can’t remember any of the words he thought would suffice. “I thought it would be better,” he says. “I thought—you would be better off without—without me holding you back.”  
  
Noya stares at him. “Holding me _back?_ What does that even mean?”  
  
“You’re… I mean, you’re a better player than I am,” he says, because it’s the easier thing to explain. “You don’t have all the hang-ups I do, and if you’re wasting your time worrying about me when you could be working on your own game—”  
  
“We’re _teammates_ ,” Noya interrupts, “of course we’re going to worry about each other, but when has that ever held either of us back from anything?” His eyes are suddenly shining again, and Asahi feels a sick pang of guilt.  
  
“It’s not just that,” he says softly. “If—if we’re not together—then…” He trails off. He’s sure this wasn’t in any of the explanations he had planned, but Noya is staring at him like he’s about to start arguing, and Asahi can’t let him; he has to articulate the thing he doesn’t want to look at, the thing that’s buried deepest in his chest. “I don’t… like girls,” he nearly whispers, “not—like you do.”  
  
Noya blinks. “What?”  
  
“I never have,” he says, and he hates the shame he feels at saying it, the shame at being ashamed, when he doesn’t even think he deserves to. “And—I mean, I figured it out, and it’s fine, it’s fine for me, but—but you…”  
  
“Oh my _god,_ Asahi-san—”  
  
“It’s just—it’s _hard_ , and there’s no reason, if… if you could just…” He can’t get to the end of the sentence; he looks down at the ground and regroups, clutches at some of the words that have finally come back to him. “I wanted to… protect you,” he says, softly. “I still do.”  
  
When he was working on his explanations, he realizes, he neglected to imagine how Noya would react as he gave them. He isn’t prepared for Noya’s expression: eyes wide and full of something that might either be outrage or enthusiasm.  
  
“Dude,” Noya says, and grips the windowsill like he’s clinging to it for his life. “Dude, Asahi-san. _Asahi-san._ ” He lets out a single bark of laughter. “You wanted to protect _me?_ Are you even kidding?” Asahi is starting to bet on outrage when Noya’s face suddenly pulls into a wild grin. “I’m _Nishinoya Yuu_ , I’m fucking _indestructible!_ ”  
  
Against his better judgement, Asahi allows a strange flicker of joy to cut through his heart. “Noya—”  
  
“You’re not going to hold me back, you idiot; I’m _better_ with you. I’ve always been better with you.”  
  
Asahi realizes, belatedly, that what Noya’s eyes are full of might be unshed tears. His own throat constricts, and he can’t respond except to stare in amazement as the color comes back into Noya’s cheeks.  
  
“And you think any of that stuff is going to stop me?” Noya is full-on hurricane mode now, full of righteous anger and ready to tear through anything Asahi puts up, and he needs this, he realizes, his stomach swooping as it hits him; he needs Noya to laugh away his fears, and he’s not sure how he ever thought he could live without it. “You think I care about things like what anyone else might think?” Noya demands. “ _You’re_ the one who cares about that; you’re the one who thinks about everything, all the time, and maybe you need to _stop thinking._ ”  
  
There’s a challenge in his eyes, and Asahi thinks it might be because Noya can read on his face the revelation that’s just hit him.  
  
Then he listens, and stops thinking. He reaches into the room, grabs a handful of Noya’s nightshirt, and nearly pulls him clear out through the window as he crushes their mouths together. Noya yelps, but he’s good at nothing if not saving falls; he grabs Asahi’s shoulders and is kissing him back a second later, rough and desperate.  
  
“Oh my god, Asahi,” he says, when his forearms are starting to shake, “what the hell are you still doing outside, get _in_ here.”  
  
“Is this—” Asahi can’t stop himself from asking, as he pushes himself up and tumbles ungracefully into the room, “Are we—?”  
  
“ _Yes_ ,” Noya says and tugs him close, then pulls him onto the bed so they’re at eye level again. “Yes, Asahi, we are dating, and if you ever plan on breaking up with me again, don’t think it’ll be this easy the next time.”  
  
Asahi laughs, but Noya’s fearless expression slips a little.  
  
“Is that,” he says, and  reaches up to touch Asahi’s face, “is that okay?”  
  
Asahi smiles and kisses him again, gently. “Yeah,” he says. “It’s perfect.”  
  
*  
  
“So, Asahi-kun, have you decided what you’re going to do?”  
  
It’s a few weeks later, and he’s standing outside with Shimada, Takinoue, and Ukai, waiting for the team to trickle out after their match.  
  
 “Well, it’s—it’s not completely settled yet,” Asahi answers. “They said the offer was still open, but—you know, I’m not good at tests; it’ll be hard even to scrape by.”  
  
 “I think you’re probably selling yourself a little short,” Shimada tells him.  
  
“Yeah, that’s what Noya said, too.” Asahi grins sheepishly. Noya’s exact words, after he got a call from the same recruiter last week, were, _If I can drag myself through a dumb test, then so can you, and I’m sure as hell going to do it somehow_ , and Asahi’s pretty sure he means it.  
  
Shimada smiles. “I’m sure you’ll both manage. We’ll just miss you on the team, when you leave.”  
  
“I—I’m sorry,” Asahi says, but Shimada laughs and shakes his head.  
  
“Well, you can keep your skills sharp with us until then, anyhow.”  
  
Asahi nods gratefully. “Thanks for… for everything,” he says. “For the job and—for helping me remember that I enjoyed playing. I just… I owe you so much.”  
  
Shimada starts to shake his head, but on the other side of him,Takinoue grins. “I think Ukai’s who you really should be thanking,” he says.  
  
“Yuusuke,” Shimada says sharply.  
  
Asahi blinks. “Huh?”  
  
The three of them exchange meaningful looks.  
  
“Um…”  
  
Finally, Ukai sighs. “I may have suggested that Tanaka and Noya go to Shimada Mart to pick up some things for our bus trip.” He spreads his arms out guiltily. “I figured it was going to happen eventually, so it might as well get sorted out before it interfered with the Inter-High.”  
  
Shimada rolls his eyes. “Sure, that’s the reason.”  
  
“Hey, it worked; Noya’s playing well.” Ukai looks a little abashed, though.  
  
Asahi can’t remember how to feel anything but gratitude. “Oh,” he says. “Well, it… yeah.” He smiles. “Worked out.”  
  
“I’m glad,” Ukai says, gruffly.  
  
The team emerges then, and when Noya tackles him into a hug, Asahi is too pleased to be embarrassed, even when Tanaka and Hinata shoot him matching grins.  
  
“You guys played great,” he says honestly, and then, when Kageyama gives him an imploring look, adds, “I can—uh. Give you some more thoughts later. If you want.”  
  
“There’s our favorite ace,” Noya says, and grins.  
  
Asahi blushes, but Hinata just protests, “Wait, Asahi-san can’t still be the ace!”  
  
Kageyama rolls his eyes and shoulders Hinata in the arm, and they start bickering loud enough for Noya to sidle close, link his arm through Asahi’s, and murmur, “Well, you’re _my_ favorite ace.”  
  
Asahi is sure, no matter what the future has in store for him, that he doesn’t need anything else.  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! :)


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